After Everything
by Eienvine
Summary: {Lizzie Bennet Diaries} "If I've learned anything from what's happened, it's that we all deserve second chances."
1. Part 1

AN: This is part 1 of 2. The story begins at episode 88 and moves forward into the future, where it will undoubtedly be canonballed.

. . . . . .

regret: _noun,_ a sense of disappointment or dissatisfaction; _verb_, to think of with a sense of loss

. . . . . .

Hours later, after they've told Jane and their father, after the hugs have all been given and the tears have all been shed and the tea has all been drunk, Lizzie sits alone on the back step, trying to sort through her thoughts. She's ecstatic, of course—ecstatic and relieved and so grateful to whoever it was that got the website taken down that she can barely keep it in. And yet there's something lurking at the back of her mind, some thought she can't get at like an itch she can't scratch, and it's keeping her from giving herself over completely to her happiness.

Maybe, she decides after a long while, it's that she wishes she'd known that everything would get sorted out so easily. Of course she's absolutely thrilled about it, thrilled about the fact that after only two weeks and through nothing they themselves have done, things have worked out. Of course Lydia's still in a bad way, hurt and confused and fighting the fact that some part of herself still loves George, but considering what they feared and expected only a few hours ago, they all got off easy.

But the point is, if they'd known that it would all get tied up so neatly, maybe she and Jane wouldn't have had to put their lives on hold and uproot themselves to come home. Maybe Jane wouldn't have lost her job in LA. Maybe Lizzie wouldn't have had to cut off her time at Pemberley Digital and leave behind her friends in San Francisco.

And she tries to ignore the thought as long as she can but it bubbles to the surface and she admits that yes, maybe it's that she wishes she'd known how easily and quickly things would be sorted out because then she never would have told William Darcy about any of this. She never would have admitted that her little sister had been manipulated, used and abused by Darcy's archnemesis, and she could perhaps have returned to Pemberley Digital once things were sorted out and pretend that nothing had ever happened. She would never have cut off the greatest career growth opportunity she'd ever had. And Darcy never would have grown cold toward her; they wouldn't have drifted apart like this. Darcy never would have known how right he was about Lizzie's family. Because that has to be what happened, right? He'd been so curt and distant there at the end, and he hasn't contacted her since, not even to see if she made it home okay, as she'd suspected he might. So all she can assume is that he's disgusted by the almost-scandal, that he doesn't want to associate himself with people like that.

But that thought makes her sit back and frown. Because if he's blaming Lydia for being taken advantage of and he's blaming Lizzie for being related to her, then she wants to have nothing to do with him. Because what kind of jerk would do that? Of course, deep down in her heart, Lizzie feels that the man who raised Gigi, who wore that ridiculous afro wig on camera, who sounded so concerned as he rubbed her shoulder and asked if she was all right, couldn't be that unfeeling. But she's been wrong about men before.

But in the end, no matter what he thinks of her now, she did tell him and he did stop caring about her and there's no use fretting over what can't be changed, so Lizzie stands up from the step and goes inside because it's time to stop thinking about this.

. . . . . .

She told Dr. Gardiner only that it was a family emergency, and her teacher was understanding and flexible and didn't press for details. But though she wasn't given a deadline for getting back to her studies, Lizzie wants very much to finish her degree, so she calls Dr. Gardiner the day after the video goes down.

"Ah, Lizzie," Dr. Gardiner says. "I hope everything is well with your family."

Lizzie smiles, even though Dr. Gardiner is on the other side of town and can't see the smile across the telephone line. "It is. Thanks."

"So," the professor says briskly, "let's talk about how this break will affect your schooling. Do you want to go back to Pemberley Digital to finish out your shadowing?"

Yes, absolutely yes, but also a resounding no. Lizzie doesn't know what to say, but she can't mention the reasons for her hesitation. "If you think I should, I can . . ." she begins hesitantly.

Dr. Gardiner laughs. "You'd rather just move on and finish up?" she guesses.

That's close enough, Lizzie says to herself.

"Well, you only had a week and half left at Pemberley, so why don't we just call that one completed? And your final company wasn't expecting you until the end of March anyway, so you should still be on track for that."

"That sounds perfect," Lizzie says gratefully.

"Excellent," says Dr. Gardiner, and the two make small talk as the call winds down.

"So I never got to ask you," Dr. Gardiner says, "did you enjoy your time at Pemberley?"

And Lizzie pauses, then bites her lip, and then a self-deprecating half-smile touches her face, and then as she reins her emotions in she thinks to herself that she's glad Dr. Gardiner can't see her right now so the only response she gets is Lizzie's very professional-sounding "It was a wonderful experience."

. . . . . .

A few days after the website disappears a letter arrives for Lizzie, one with a very familiar logo on the envelope, and her pulse quickens as she takes it upstairs to read in the privacy of her room. It doesn't seem like a personal letter—her name is printed, not written, on the envelope—but she can't stop herself hoping.

It's not a personal letter. "Dear Ms. Bennet," it reads, "We have appreciated and enjoyed having you shadow at Pemberley Digital. Your contributions to our team—" Frustrated, she breaks off and scans the rest of the letter. It invites her to submit her résumé after graduating, but that doesn't mean anything; she knows every intern gets this letter.

But at least maybe—she scans down to the bottom, to see whose name is signed there. It turns out to be Trenton Jones, and Lizzie drops the letter on her bed and sighs.

. . . . . .

"Reading again, nerdy older sister?" The nickname and the voice are familiar, but the tone is that of the new version of Lydia, quiet and hesitant.

Lizzie puts her book down and smiles up at Lydia. "What can I say, I've just got to know if Valjean is ever going to escape the ghosts of his past."

"Spoiler: he dies at the end. I've seen the movie."

At this Lizzie laughs and motions for her sister to sit beside her, and she considers it a major victory that Lydia does with only a moment of hesitation.

"I guess I should try reading some books some time," she says, glancing at the novel in Lizzie's hands. "I'm taking English summer term."

"You decided to do school this summer?" Lizzie asks. "I'm glad." And then she worries that sounds like she's trying to make Lydia more like her again, so she quickly adds, "If you're glad, I mean."

Lydia laughs a little. "Yeah, I'm happy I'm going back."

Lizzie smiles in return but she doesn't know what to say next—things with Lydia have improved dramatically but they're not completely easy with each other yet—so she's glad when Lydia speaks again. "And Mary will be happy to have me bothering her with my homework again."

And now Lizzie knows what to say. "I've always meant to tell you," she says, "how impressed I am by what you did for Mary."

Lydia scoffs. "I've never done anything for Mary."

"You've been her friend. You got her to think of you as a friend. That's something Jane and I never managed to do—I never even tried. I think she's been much lonelier than we ever realized, and you're the first one of us to form a real relationship with her."

"I needed her to help me study," Lydia says dismissively, but then she hesitates, and then she looks down at her hands in her lap. "And I guess I needed . . . a friend."

"And she needs you," Lizzie insists. "We all do." And Lydia meets her eyes and hesitantly smiles.

. . . . . .

She scrolls down her contacts list until she gets to the Gs, and there between George Wickham (ugh, why hasn't she deleted that yet? It doesn't work anymore anyway) and Ginny Smith she finds what she was looking for. One tap of her thumb opens the contact, and she stares at it a long moment, one finger hovering over the green call button as her eyes trace the D in Darcy. And then she shuts the phone and puts it away.

. . . . . .

Jane spends every morning poring over job listings online, preparing résumés and attending job interviews. She's not going to get a job at her old company, she admits to Lizzie one night, and then after a brief hesitation she admits she's unlikely to get one in the fashion industry, at least not right away. She pretends as though this information doesn't bother her, and maybe it actually doesn't very much. This is Jane, after all, and she would never begrudge anything her sisters asked her to do for them.

Lizzie asks if she's considered moving back to Los Angeles, and she shrugs. "Eventually, probably," she says. "But not now. I need to be here." And Lizzie puts her arm around Jane's shoulders and sighs. This isn't how it should be. Jane is wonderful and kind and hard-working and good at her job, and she should be rewarded for that, not stuck back in their little town with its limited opportunities. She can't blame Lydia for this, for so many reasons, so she blames herself. If she hadn't mistreated Lydia, none of this would have happened and New Jane could have stayed in Los Angeles and blossomed like a butterfly and become the fashion guru she's meant to be.

Except she's wrong, she realizes over time, if she thinks that New Jane is gone, lost somewhere in a cloud of exhaust over a highway headed out of LA. New Jane is still with them, using firmness in equal measure with kindness to keep Lizzie and Lydia from wallowing in self-pity. Old Jane couldn't have brought herself to be firm with them, especially with Lydia so upset, and Lizzie finally understands that New Jane is here to stay.

. . . . . .

ennui: _noun,_ a feeling of weariness or dissatisfaction

. . . . . .

It's that they were so tense for so long that it's hard to return to normal life. It's that Lydia is still working through things very slowly and often alone. It's that Lizzie spent a month in San Francisco and now that she's back she understands why Caroline always thought that nothing happened in their little town. It's that she misses the life she'd begun to carve out for herself.

Whatever the reasons, she knows it's so ungrateful of her to be thinking it, now that Lydia is okay and things are going to be all right, but she still can't help but feel that lately everything has been just a bit flat.

. . . . . .

Lizzie hesitates, one hand lifted, then knocks on the door. After a moment it opens to reveal Lydia already dressed in her pajamas. "Hey," Lizzie says, "I was thinking of putting on a movie and I was wondering if you wanted to join me."

Lydia looks down and toys with the hem of her shirt. "I don't want you to feel obligated—"

"I don't," Lizzie cuts in, and Lydia looks up and smiles.

An hour later they are ensconced in the living room watching She's the Man, with Lydia leaning against Lizzie's knees and Lizzie playing with Lydia's hair, just like they were children again. "I have a theory," Lizzie says, "that Channing Tatum never actually acts, because he's actually that dim and likable in real life so for most movies he's in he's just being himself."

Lydia laughs. "And why would you need to be able to act if you've got got abs like that?" She's silent a moment, and then adds, rather less cheerily, "But I guess I've learned my lesson about liking guys based on their abs."

George is still a sensitive subject around here so Lizzie considers a moment then responds delicately, "Abs can be very distracting." And she can sense that this conversation is about to get serious so she calmly adds, "It was the shoulders for me."

Lydia laughs, surprised—a genuine laugh—and then is quiet for a moment. She rubs her arms, then says all in a rush, without turning around, "I should have known. I saw how he treated you, that he just left town and started dating someone else, but I still got sucked in somehow."

"I saw your videos," Lizzie says gently. "He was extremely persistent."

"I just convinced myself that it'd be different with me and him somehow." She hesitates, then says softly, "I know I messed things up for you."

"Have you been listening to my YouTube viewers again?" Lizzie demands. "Because anyone who says that is an idiot."

"No," Lydia says with a little laugh. "But I did watch your videos. I saw your last one at Pemberley. I saw Darcy trying to ask you out. I messed that up."

Lydia's words bring with them a reminder of the rush of feelings of that moment, the surprise and the trepidation and the unexpected pleasure, and Lizzie remembers what she's been trying to forget: that in the moment before her phone beeped, she'd planned to say yes. "That doesn't matter," she says, as much to her heart as to Lydia. "Maybe he still cared about me then but he sure got over that in a hurry. And I don't want to be with a guy who would just completely drop me like that in a moment of crisis."

After a moment Lydia smiles, and once she has turned her attention back to the TV, Lizzie takes a calming breath and then lets it out in a long sigh.

. . . . . .

Bing reappears in their lives bearing a bag of snickerdoodles. It's the sweetest thing Lizzie's seen in a long time, and on the basis of that alone she hopes that Jane will forgive him. And she will, eventually, Lizzie thinks; for the moment they're starting from scratch but if Bing keeps being completely smitten and completely adorable, they probably won't stay distant for long.

Mrs. Bennet is thrilled to pieces, of course, not only because her Jane has her rich handsome doctor back, but because she gets to haughtily inform Mrs. Phillips, when she comes over one day with gossip, that they in fact were already aware that Bing Lee had returned to Netherfield, and in fact he had visited them the day before, hadn't she heard?

But as the days go by without an announcement from Jane that she and Bing are officially back together, Lizzie starts to wonder if maybe some things can't be fixed, if some people who should have been together can miss their chance so completely that they never find their way back to each other. The thought makes her more uncomfortable than she expected.

. . . . . .

At the sound of the front door opening, Lizzie and Lydia glance at each other, then both scramble off the couch to rush into the front entryway. By the time Jane has hung her purse on the hall tree, the two younger Bennets are at her side, looking at her with expectant eyes.

Jane looks from one sister to the other, then breaks down and smiles. "It was a nice lunch," she informs them.

"Nice as in you're too polite to say it was horrible—" Lizzie starts.

"—or nice as in we're going to need bridesmaid dresses?" Lydia finishes.

Jane gives them both a fondly exasperated look. "It was one date," she reminds Lydia. "And it was nice as in . . . it was nice." She's smiling—she's Jane—but not in the way she did the first time around with Bing.

"Second date?" Lydia asks, but Jane only shrugs.

. . . . . .

revelation: _noun,_ something revealed or disclosed, especially a striking disclosure, as of something not before realized

. . . . . .

The bombshell that shakes up her life that February—just one in a long line of bombshells over the past year—is lobbed at her by a most unexpected source.

"You do need to finish that interview with William Darcy," Dr. Gardiner points out. "You should contact him soon; I hear he's finally back in town."

Lizzie pretends to be only passingly interested. "He's been gone?"

"Oh, right," Dr. Gardiner says, "I'd forgotten that you left before he did. But I suppose you wouldn't have known even if you had been there; it was personal, apparently. There was some kind of scandal involving a family friend that he went to go help sort out."

For exactly six heartbeats, each of which Lizzie feels in her throat, there is silence. And then she sits up straighter. "Oh, really?" she says, and she's sure anyone could tell her disinterest is feigned. "What kind of scandal?" Then she pauses. "I don't want to sound like a gossip, but I got to know some of his family and friends while I was there . . ."

It's a weak excuse but Dr. Gardiner seems to buy it. "I'm not sure; I got this all third-hand from someone who knows someone on Pemberley's IT team. But apparently this girl's ex was selling a sex tape without her permission? So Darcy tracked down the ex and somehow got him to stop and destroy the tapes. Can't imagine how; it must have required a lot of money."

As her mentor speaks, Lizzie's hands curl tighter and tighter around the arm rests of her chair until her fingers hurt. So she's impressed with her own composure when she speaks. "That's incredibly kind of him. Could you excuse me a moment? I need to use the restroom."

Dr. Gardiner agrees and Lizzie gets up and leaves the office, her movements too careful, her hands beginning to tremble. And when she's reached the bathroom, she drops onto the couch for nursing mothers—she's not trying to be dramatic but her legs have literally given out—and cries.

. . . . . .

William Darcy. Twelve letters. Two phone numbers, cell and work, and a home address given her by Gigi. Lizzie stares at the contact information on her phone for what feels like days, her thumb hovering over the call button as her eyes trace over the pleasingly regular shape of the word William—a solid rectangle that tapers off on the right. She told herself all the way back from campus that when she got home she was going to call him and ask what Dr. Gardiner had meant and where is this coming from and oh my goodness is it true, but now that she's here sitting on the floor of her old bedroom she can't bring herself to hit the call button. Instead she stares at his name and thinks that William is a nice solid shape but Will would be a perfect rectangle, almost a perfect square, depending on your typeface. Perfectly regular and respectable and reliable, perfectly square Will. The perfect name for a guy who would sweep in and save the sister of an acquaintance from a scandal.

Lizzie heard it an hour ago and hasn't stopped reeling yet, because William Darcy hates George Wickham and surely cleaning up his mess is as distasteful an activity as he could possibly imagine, because the time and money spent to fix this must have been considerable, because the man she once called soulless has just done the most generous thing anyone has ever done for her and her family. And why?

Maybe, says that little part of her that still flutters when someone says his name, he did it for you.

But that idea doesn't hold up to a moment's scrutiny. If he'd done it for her, surely he'd have told her as much. What is the point in sweeping a girl off her feet if the girl doesn't know she's being swept? Surely he (or Gigi or Fitz) would have said something to her, instead of maintaining the absolute radio silence that's been coming from San Francisco for the last month. And anyway, she can't forget the cold way he told her goodbye back in January. She can't forget that moment where she called his name, pleading and grateful and broken and regretful, and she'd been sure that he could read in her face that she was sorry things were ending that way and that they weren't going to go to the theater together, but instead of seeming sad or concerned or even acknowledging that this was the end, he'd rushed out of the room without even a goodbye, as though he couldn't end the encounter fast enough. Surely those were not the actions of a man still in love.

So maybe his actions had nothing to do with her. Maybe they had everything to do with George Wickham, and going after him was just a way for Darcy to make sure his friend-turned-rival finally got the comeuppance he so thoroughly deserves. Maybe it was a way to get Gigi some closure. Maybe he blames himself for not stopping George earlier, somehow, and this was his way of trying to set it right. That makes sense, or at least she knows that to responsible, self-sacrificing, have-to-take-care-of-everything William Darcy it would make sense.

The point is, she's not going to call Darcy.

With a flick of her thumb, her contact list goes scrolling by until she stops on Gigi Darcy. Not as stalwart and capable a name as Will, but she'll know the details of whatever has just happened—after all, this involves George Wickham. (Unless Darcy kept her out of it, to keep her safe, but she can't imagine Gigi allowing herself to be kept out of anything.) But she can't bring herself to dial this number either. Gigi hasn't kept in contact any better than Will has, and she's not saying she blames the girl but she is saying that the memory of their close bond has dimmed as the weeks have passed, and she's not quite confident barging into Gigi's life and demanding Darcy family secrets. Not to mention that if she calls Gigi asking for information about Darcy, it could likely just start her back up with her enthusiastic matchmaking attempts, and Lizzie can't deal with that right now—she doesn't want to be forced back into Darcy's life when he so clearly doesn't want contact with her.

It's a short scroll from there to Fitz Williams but she hardly looks at that name for a moment before deciding against it. Since he's not a Bennet or a Darcy she's not sure how much he knows about the sex tape, and if he doesn't know about it she doesn't want to tell him about it. (She knows that it's a ridiculous attempt at damage control, that not spreading the story of the scandal to one solitary person when she's already told two hundred thousand of her viewers is a bit like using a paper towel to dry up the sea, but it's how she feels and that's the way it is.) And anyway, he was plotting with Gigi every step of the way and he'll get just as excited about her asking about Darcy as Gigi would. So she's not calling Fitz.

She briefly glances at Twitter next, but that tells her nothing; Fitz talks about a trip to Fiji and Gigi is chatting with her followers and Darcy hasn't tweeted since she thanked him for the day out in San Francisco. No, if she wants to know anything, she's going to have to contact one of them.

So she picks up her phone, then hesitates, and then puts it back down.

Someday, she tells herself. But not now. Not when her feelings—about Lydia, about the scandal, about Darcy—are so raw. For now she'll just be content with the knowledge that William Darcy—_William Darcy_—has saved the day.

. . . . . .

Normal life returns to the Bennet household. Mr. Bennet holes himself up in his study with his books. Mrs. Bennet plays bridge with her friends and asks Jane prying questions about Bing. Jane moves slowly with Bing but she's smiling more these days. Lydia registers for summer classes at her community college and visits Mary to study in preparation for her return to school.

And Lizzie sits at home and pretends that life is back to normal for her, too. She works on her write-up on Pemberley Digital and every time she writes William Darcy, CEO's name she is seized with a strange mix of admiration and gratitude and sorrow and embarrassment. And once those feelings have receded she goes over Dr. Gardiner's story again, looking for some clue that will help her make sense of the man who once accused her of willfully misunderstanding him. But the missing puzzle piece that would help her fit it all together never appears, and she sighs and goes back to typing. She's pretty sure that if she keeps getting so distracted she's never going to finish this paper.

. . . . . .

The next bombshell: Jane is moving to New York City.

Somehow this move surprises and pains Lizzie much less than Los Angeles, despite being across the entire country. She thinks to herself that it's been good (well, not good, because poor Lydia)—maybe more like it's been very _educational_, all the moving about of the last few months, because the whole family takes her imminent departure for the east coast much better than they would have six months ago.

Of course it hurts Lizzie's heart to think of Jane so far away, but if there's anything she's learned in the last few months, it's that she can't tell other people how to live their lives. And besides, once Jane has an apartment, Lizzie has a place to crash if she ever visits New York.

. . . . . .

"How could she do this to me?" Mrs. Bennet demands. "Now, when Bing is finally back in her life?"

Lizzie rolls her eyes, but to her surprise it's Lydia who speaks up. "I know you're sad, Mom," she says. "But Jane isn't doing this _to_ you, she's doing it _for _her. She's moving towards something instead of just reacting to what life throws at her. This is good. It's what she needs in her life right now. You should be happy for her."

And Lizzie stares at her sister, at this unexpected little sage, and Lydia shrugs and smiles.

. . . . . .

reconcile: _verb,_ to bring into harmony or agreement, to reestablish a close relationship

. . . . . .

Lizzie doesn't know when a wait has ever pained her so much, but she waits to watch the footage of Bing and Jane's confrontation in the den until Jane has had a chance to tell her everything herself. It's four hours until Bing finally leaves, and by that time Lizzie is just about sick with the anticipation.

But finally, the three Bennet sisters are gathered on the sofa, and Jane begins. "We . . . Bing and I . . ." She hesitates, plucking at the throw over her lap, and Lizzie's eyes widen in anticipation. "He's coming to New York with me."

Two simultaneous cries of disbelief pour out of the two younger Bennets, and Jane explains everything: how he quit med school ("That explains so much," says Lizzie) and he's going to do charity work in New York and they're going to take things really slow ("The kind of slow where you kiss him goodbye?" asks Lydia skeptically, "Because I definitely saw you two just now"), but she's working on forgiving him.

Lizzie sits back on the couch, examining her sister's face, then says, "You seem really happy."

Jane hesitates, then smiles. "I am. Things are . . . complicated. But I finally realized, I've spent the last six months figuring out who I am, and apparently he has too. And if I'm allowed to change and forgive myself for mistakes I've made, I figured I should probably extend him the same courtesy."

"You're so wise," says Lizzie, and it's partially teasing but partially genuine wonder at the strong woman her sister is becoming. She herself could certainly do with learning to be a bit more forgiving.

Jane smiles and puts a hand on each sister's knee. "Now I just need to see you two happy."

"Good luck with that," says Lizzie. "Lydia's sworn off boys for the moment and I, you may recall, am perpetually single."

Jane cocks her head to one side, and Lizzie, suddenly panicky, can hear her words before she says them. "What happened with you and Darcy?" Jane asks softly.

"Nothing," says Lizzie, and she thinks she's done a very good job of sounding unconcerned.

But this is Jane, who knows her better than anyone (even Charlotte, but don't tell her that), and she doesn't believe Lizzie for a moment. But Lizzie shrugs off the continued questioning. "Everything's a mess" is all she'll say.

But later that night, when Lydia has gone to bed and Lizzie and Jane are brushing their teeth together in the bathroom, Lizzie gives in. She's tired and she's sad and she's been carrying the weight of her feelings alone for a long time, and Jane's kind eyes loosen her stubborn tongue.

"I was going to say yes," she admits. "To the theater. In that moment between him asking and my hearing about Lydia, I had already decided what dress I was going to wear. I was . . . reminding myself to put breath mints in my purse." She looks away, embarrassed, and Jane pulls the toothbrush out of her mouth and wraps her arms around her little sister.

. . . . . .

Jane and Bing leave the next day. They're both driving their cars, so as to have them in New York, but they're caravaning all the way there—for safety, Jane insists.

The Bennets stand on the driveway and wave her goodbye. After her stalwart little hatchback pulls out of the driveway, Bing's sleek sports car pulls away from the curb to follow, and the Bennets wave at him too. "Mark my words," says Mrs. Bennet, "the next time we see that boy he will be my future son-in-law." Apparently the fact that he's no longer going to be a doctor has not curbed Mrs. Bennet's enthusiasm for him in the least.

Lizzie just laughs and shakes her head, but apparently the conversation lingers with some people in the family because later that day, Lydia joins Lizzie at the kitchen table. "Is Jane going to marry him?"

"Lydia," Lizzie laughs, "I don't think they're even officially dating yet. It's a little early to be asking about that." She pauses. "But yeah, she's totally going to marry him. I think that the fact that the two nicest people in the world found each other can't just be coincidence; they've got to be written in the stars somehow."

Lydia pats her hand. "Well, then, good thing I'll still have you, perpetually single older sister."

"Someday," said Lizzie, "I'm going to marry the prince of, like, Monaco and then you're going to be really embarrassed."

"Nah, he's like fifty and married. I already checked."

. . . . . .

Jane calls Lizzie from Cedar City, Utah that first night to say she's traveled safely so far. Lizzie asks after Bing, and she can hear the smile in Jane's voice when she answers that he's fine and they've just had dinner together. Then she's silent a long moment. "I've been thinking about what you told me last night," she says. "And I think if I've learned anything from what's happened with Bing, it's that we all deserve second chances. I don't think you should give up on Darcy."

"I haven't," says Lizzie quietly. "But I think he's given up on me."

And after Jane has said goodbye, Lizzie sits quietly on her couch and tells herself no man is worth crying over. She almost believes it.

. . . . . .

AN: Part 2 up soon, I hope.


	2. Part 2

AN: So sorry for the incredibly long gap between updates; I had a bit of trouble deciding how to finish and then I was out of town for a long time. If you, dear reader, have indeed waited all this time, thank you and I hope it was worth the wait. Also, this fine website apparently has an aversion to symbols; I can't get it to allow them. So the Twitter portions are inaccurately represented; sorry.

. . . . . .

self-delusion: _noun,_ the act of deceiving oneself, especially as to the true nature of one's feelings

. . . . . .

The house seems strange without Jane in it; in the weeks since they've all been home, Lizzie has grown accustomed to having the whole family around. She still has Lydia, of course, but Jane's departure leaves a hole in her life, makes it that much quieter. And Lizzie doesn't want quiet, because that just gives her more time for thought.

Her last three videos have been about Jane, Bing, and Kitty—yes, she actually made a video about Kitty. Someone who was paying attention to these sorts of things might notice that she's carefully not talking about herself, ever. This person might infer, correctly, that she's trying not to confront what's going on in her own head and heart. But Lizzie has been very deliberately un-self-aware lately, so she's not letting herself notice that she's unhappy.

. . . . . .

"You know, with Bing and Jane getting on so well—well, I'm just saying that if you don't start trying a little harder, they're going to have six children before you're even married."

"Oh, sorry Mom, didn't I tell you? I've converted to Catholicism and I'm going to join a convent pretty soon." Lizzie shrugs. "No husbands there, sorry." She pauses. "Except the Lord."

"I don't appreciate your tone, Elizabeth," says Mrs. Bennet, but Lizzie sees her father smirk behind his newspaper.

. . . . . .

She hides the Sunday paper from her parents. Not the whole thing, just the business section, and by "hides" she means "throws away in the outside trash can." It's self-preservation, really; she couldn't stand it if they asked her about the article on the front page of the business section. She could barely stand to glance at it herself.

A CULTURED ALTERNATIVE TO HOLLYWOOD, reads the headline on page B1, and Lizzie's eyes get as far as the big picture of the Pemberley Digital campus (there's that bench she used to drink her coffee on) with the inset picture of a tuxedoed William Darcy at some society event before she crumples it up. Not intentionally; her hands involuntarily clench and the paper bears the brunt of her discomfort. And before her dad can come into the kitchen and read it and ask Isn't that the place you interned, before her mom can read it over his shoulder and say Too bad that rich handsome Darcy turned out to be so unpleasant, she sneaks out the back door and throws the section away without glancing over any more of it. She doesn't need a reminder of the fact that she may have lost her chance at a job at the most amazing company in the world. Or that she's lost her chance at the most amazing man she knows. This is not the time to think of those things.

Because she's finally come to some sort of uneasy peace with her feelings, and she doesn't want to upset that. Darcy was her friend in January, was maybe working toward becoming something more than that, but that's over, entirely, forever. Because he was disgusted when he heard about Lydia and Wickham and he practically stormed out of her life, and yes he helped Lydia but if he'd done it for Lizzie surely he would have told her by now. Surely he would contact her. But he continues to avoid her and to hide his involvement in the Wickham scandal from her.

So, fine. She gets it. He's finally over her, and she gets to learn to live with that, to live with the fact that in a shining example of terrible timing, he stopped caring in the same moment that she started. That's it. Their story ended in a Pemberley office on a cold January afternoon.

And the sound of the lid to the garbage can shutting, hiding from her sight William Darcy's handsome newsprint face, sounds like a door closing, and she's glad that at least now she knows it's over but gladness doesn't explain the heaviness behind her eyes.

. . . . . .

reunion: _noun,_ two or more people coming together again after a separation

. . . . . .

Jane arrives safely in New York City and starts apartment hunting, and as per their agreement, Bing looks for a place of his own too. From the way she talks about him when she calls the family, a person might assume that she and Bing are mere acquaintances, so determined is she to keep up their agreed-on distance.

Only Lizzie and Lydia know, from the texts she sends them later that night, how she really feels.

_Bing is wonderful._

. . . . . .

"You threw it away?"

"I didn't want anyone to see it and remember to start asking me questions," Lizzie defends herself. "And what does it matter?"

Charlotte sits back a little with the smug smile of someone who knows something you don't know. "So you didn't see any of the article about Pemberley Digital?"

Lizzie shakes her head.

"Did you wonder why our little local newspaper was doing an article on a San Francisco company?"

She hadn't, but now that Charlotte mentions it, she's right, it's odd.

"Well, in answer to your question, that article has to do with the reason I'm in town," Charlotte says, with the air of someone delivering big news. "Do you remember those two guys from school who won the college entrepreneurship contest two years ago with that film editing app? Well, they started a company in town after they graduated, and they just announced last week that their company has been acquired by Pemberley Digital."

Lizzie is still. "That's . . . good for them."

"Are you kidding?" Charlotte demands. "It's awesome. I'm pretty sure most people agree that working for Pemberley Digital is pretty much the best thing someone in our area of expertise could hope to do for a living. Or at least I'm pretty sure that's what a friend of mine recently thought."

Lizzie makes a face at Charlotte (which is promptly returned), then finds herself fiddling with the cuffs of her sleeves. "So the newspaper did the article so we'd know who this new company in town is?"

"Well, yeah. This could be huge for this town," Charlotte points out. "Pemberley Digital is turning their facilities into a satellite office that'll focus on developing apps like this; the hope is that this way they can get a lot of interns from the university's mass comm and computer programs. Apparently the company higher-ups have been very impressed with the caliber of students coming out of our little school lately."

Here she gives Lizzie a significant look, and Lizzie flushes bright red.

"It's not like that," says Lizzie. "I mean, if anything, he was probably impressed with the work you're doing for Collins and Collins."

"Interesting," says Charlotte thoughtfully. "All I said was 'company higher-ups' but apparently your mind goes straight to Darcy."

Lizzie splutters a little, caught. It's true, but she can hardly be blamed for thinking of first of him, because she thinks mostly about him these days no matter what's being talked of.

But Charlotte laughs, letting her off easy. "You know," she points out, "you haven't asked me yet what this has to do with me?"

"What does this have to do with you?" Lizzie asks, grateful for something to distract her.

"Well, I'm on loan from Collins and Collins to come and offer my expertise as a local as they find housing for the Pemberley Digital employees who are going to be moving here."

"Who's moving here?" Lizzie asks, not even trying to pretend that she's not hugely invested in the answer to this question.

"Oh, you know," Charlotte says innocently, "A few of the web development team members, someone from HR, people like that. Oh, and one part-time graphic designer. You might have met her. Georgiana Darcy?"

"Oh," says Lizzie, because suddenly she doesn't feel equal to saying any more than that.

. . . . . .

She has a million questions, but only one gets answered that week: why relocate Gigi? And it's answered by the woman herself, who appears on the Bennets' doorstep a few nights after Charlotte's news.

"Lizzie!" she cries when the door opens, and Lizzie's momentary hesitation over whether she and Gigi are still on hugging terms after not speaking for so long is shattered by Gigi throwing her arms around her in a bone-crushing embrace. "I missed you so much. Am I interrupting anything? I should have called first to see if I could come over but I wanted to surprise you."

"Hi Gigi," Lizzie smiles, and returns the hug just as warmly (if a bit less tightly). "It's been a while." She didn't mean it as a reflection on Gigi's lack of contact for the past month and a half, but after she says it the thought does occur to her that she wonders why Gigi never texted if she missed her so much.

And apparently Gigi's thinking the same thing because she declares, "I know! I've been wanting to call but we thought that maybe you guys needed some time after . . . everything. And then I couldn't say anything about coming here until the acquisition was officially announced. Are you mad?"

And who could ever stay mad at Gigi? "Of course not," Lizzie smiles, then says sincerely. "It's really good to see you. Do you want to come in?"

"I can't," Gigi says, looking at her watch. "I literally have to be headed out of town in ten minutes. I'm just out here today looking for an apartment before I move next week. But I have to be back in San Francisco tonight."

"You're really moving here?" Lizzie asks. "What about school?"

"I'm done in a month," Gigi shrugs, "and my practical experience at Pemberley was my last major requirement. My advisor's letting me do everything else online. And then in April I'll be a graphic designer for Pemberley Digital full-time!"

"Yeah, I was wondering about that," says Lizzie. "Why are they sending a graphic designer here when the rest of the facility will be app development?"

"It's this idea the COO had," says Gigi brightly. "This is our first satellite office and they're worried about making sure our company culture is preserved there. So they decided to send some people here to work remotely for a few months while we, you know, help all the new people understand the company culture. Make sure they know how things are at Pemberley Digital. And apparently I 'embody Pemberley's culture,' according to the COO."

Lizzie laughs. "Yeah, you kind of do." And she smiles warmly at Gigi. "It's going to be fun having you in town, even if it's just for a few months."

Gigi grins back, but before she can respond her watch beeps. "Oops, gotta go," she says. "But one more question." And suddenly she looks hesitant and serious. "I wanted to ask . . . I was wondering if you could . . ." She fiddles with the ring on her finger, then squares her shoulders and looks at Lizzie. "While I'm in town, I'd really like to get to know your sister. Lydia," she clarifies, then adds, "Obviously Lydia, Jane's in New York."

(She still watches my videos, Lizzie thinks, and the thought makes her a little panicky.)

"It's just . . . I feel like I already know her through her videos, and after what we both went through with—with Wickham, I just . . . I really want to get to know her. I really think she and I could be friends. But I am worried that I'd just be a reminder of what happened. So could you maybe kind of bring it up subtly? See if you think she'd be okay with that?"

It's a weird request, but then it's a weird situation. And Lizzie's always thought that the two of them ought to be friends. So she agrees.

And Gigi hugs her again then runs out to her car, and Lizzie smiles as she watches her go.

. . . . . .

wmdarcy hasn't updated his Twitter since January 27, and Lizzie wants to shake him and demand how in the world he can run a modern media company if he can't even communicate online.

. . . . . .

To Lizzie's surprise, Lydia's a little resistant to Lizzie's proposal that the two of them hang out with Gigi Darcy when she comes into town next week.

"Do you . . ." Lizzie responds, confused. "I mean, obviously you don't have to, but . . . you like going to Carter's, right? And she's a friend. I'd like you to meet her."

Lydia stares at her glass of milk, then abruptly stands from the table. "I'll think about it."

And Lizzie doesn't know what's wrong until that night, when Lydia walks into the bathroom while she's brushing her teeth. "I didn't meant to be all snappy earlier," she says. "It's just . . ." She sighs. "I know it's not fair to judge her when I've never even met her, but watching your videos in January made me kind of . . . I guess I was kind of jealous of her. I was mad that you two were like besties when you and me weren't even talking."

"I know," Lizzie says lowly. "I'm sorry."

They're silent together a long moment, and then Lizzie says, "But part of the reason I liked her so much was that she reminded me so much of you in some ways. Even when I thought I was so mad at you, I subconsciously missed having you around."

Lydia looks up at her, then sighs. "Do you just want us to hang out so we can have a support group for girls who got screwed over by that human landfill George Wickham?"

Lizzie laughs. "I've always thought you two would get along really well, and I'd really like for Gigi to have a friend while she's in town." She pauses. "And yes, I think it might be nice for both of you to have someone who understands a little what you've been through."

Lydia thinks about this, then: "I'm free Friday night."

Lizzie smiles.

. . . . . .

progress: _noun_, movement, as toward a goal; development or growth

. . . . . .

Lizzie finishes her writeup on Pemberley Digital on Friday afternoon; all she has left to complete is her interview with the CEO. But she's not going to think about that—not going to think about the necessity of contacting him, not going to think about the fact that the last time she tried to interview him, it got completely sidetracked by Darcy being silly and surprisingly charming and wearing a ridiculous wig—until she absolutely has to. Right now, she's just going to think about a night out with some of the people who matter to her the most.

She's talking about Lydia and Charlotte, of course—Charlotte's still in town so she's coming—because Gigi, though absolutely sweet and wonderful and very dear, is still sort of a new acquaintance and not on the level of her sisters (biological and spiritual) just yet.

Of course, says a voice in her head, if things had gone differently last fall, she could nearly be your sister now. She ignores that voice; she's gotten quite good at doing that.

They all meet at Carter's and it goes all right. Not great, but all right. Lydia and Gigi are still unsure about each other, although it's clear that Gigi's holding herself back, not wanting to frighten Lydia in her desire to be her friend. So Lizzie and Charlotte do most of the talking.

But Charlotte has to leave early, and not long after Lizzie has to leave to take a call, leaving the George Wickham support group sitting awkwardly and silently at the table. The call takes rather longer than expected, and then when she hangs up she runs into a friend from school, so by the time she gets back to the table it's been quite some time and she's worried that she'll find Lydia and Gigi completely mired in silent discomfort.

What she sees instead is two bright-eyed girls making tipsy toasts. "Here's to guys who aren't trying to make money off of you!" Lydia cries, lifting her glass.

"Here's to never hearing the word 'peach' again!" Gigi replies, a little more unstable than Lydia (she never could hold her liquor well).

"Here's to guys who didn't date your sister first!" responds Lydia.

"I'll drink to that," Lizzie smiles as she slides back onto the bench.

The two girls turn to smile at her, and Lizzie thinks that this could be the start of a beautiful friendship.

. . . . . .

Bing has found a position at a non-profit that raises money to build schools for girls in Cameroon, and Jane is swooning—well, as much as Jane ever swoons. But of course she acts like she's merely glad for her friend. "You should see how happy he is," she tells Lizzie over Skype, and she's beaming. "I can't believe he ever thought he wanted to be a doctor. This is clearly what he was meant to do."

"Just like you're now doing what you were meant to do," Lizzie points out.

"Exactly."

"Imagine that," Lizzie says. "Two people finding themselves . . . and each other . . . in the big city."

"Stop it, Lizzie," Jane says, but she's smiling.

. . . . . .

Gigi moved into Netherfield in the end—Bing's not using it, obviously, and it's so much nicer than the apartment that Pemberley Digital was going to put her up in—and when Lizzie comes by to pick Gigi up for lunch, she looks at the house where she once lived with Bing and Darcy and dearest Jane, and then she has to look away because it's giving her a dull ache in her chest.

. . . . . .

"I love the first draft of the writeup," says Dr. Gardiner.

"Great!" says Lizzie.

"I've made a few comments I'd like you to incorporate," says Dr. Gardiner.

"Great!" says Lizzie.

"And I think I've got everything sorted for your last placement," says Dr. Gardiner.

"Great!" says Lizzie.

"So right now all I need from you is to finish your interview with William Darcy," says Dr. Gardiner.

"Oh," says Lizzie.

. . . . . .

It turns out they were right, and Lydia and Gigi, after the awkwardness of that first outing, develop a slow-burning but sincere friendship. The three of them go to movies and to coffee, and after a week or two Lydia admits that Lizzie was right, the Darcy girl is cool. They don't say much about George after that first night of toasts, but he's an undercurrent in so many of their conversations that Lizzie worries whether he'll ever stop haunting their lives like the most unwanted of specters. But she's glad Lydia has someone to talk to, and she's glad Gigi has a friend.

But there was a danger she didn't see in bringing Lydia and Gigi together, as she learns one night when Lydia returns from a concert she and Gigi attended alone. "So, big sis," Lydia says casually, leaning on the counter, "I've been thinking: if I was so wrong about one of the Darcys, do you think maybe you were wrong about the other one?"

"Where's this coming from?" Lizzie demands, because she is not in the mood for this.

"Nowhere," Lydia insists. "It just, hearing Gigi's stories about her brother, he seems kind of cool. I mean, like totally dorky, but you do dorky pretty well too."

"Lydia, there's nothing between me and him, okay? Don't let Gigi try to convince you otherwise."

"Who said Gigi had anything to do with this?" Lydia says innocently, and Lizzie gives her a look. "Okay, fine, maybe Gigi wanted me to see, maybe, how you're feeling about him?" (That makes the first time Gigi has mentioned Darcy, and Lizzie has been trying to decide whether she finds the silence on the subject more relieving or suspicious.)

"I don't feel anything about him," Lizzie lies. "He's somebody I used to know."

"Of course he is, Gotye." Lydia looks anything but convinced. And then she smirks. "But I think maybe tonight you should go have a look around Twitter. See what people are up to."

She waltzes out of the kitchen, and Lizzie watches her go, her pulse suddenly fast.

. . . . . .

**William Darcy **wmdarcy

I'm excited to have the opportunity to visit our new satellite office.

. . . . . .

anticipation: _noun, _expectation; the act of looking forward

. . . . . .

She has lunch the next day with Gigi, just the two of them alone, and the entire time she's on tenterhooks, wondering if she dares bring him up, wondering what she'd do if he were already in town and this lunch date was another Gigi setup.

It's not, but she doesn't stay in suspense forever; as she's perusing the menu, Gigi says in too-light a tone, "So my brother's coming to town."

Lizzie doesn't bother responding with anything more than raised eyebrows, because she knows Gigi will be wild to tell her all the details either way. And she's right. "He should arrive some time this weekend."

"Oh," says Lizzie.

"But that's all I'm saying," says Gigi. "I'm trying to be better at not meddling with other people's lives."

"That's a good lesson to learn," Lizzie agrees, but deep down she's not sure she trusts Gigi to hold to that. The girl means well but Lizzie's not sure she knows how not to stick her nose in her brother's business.

. . . . . .

She's concentrating really hard on this book on convergence culture, she really is, because it is important to her studies and so interesting and what else would she be thinking about, really? She's absolutely not thinking about the past, about things said and unsaid in San Francisco, because that's just silly. But when the clock chimes the hour she glances up and realizes that she has been looking at the same paragraph for ten minutes without making sense of any of it. So finally, with a sigh, she gives in and closes her book, and then, hesitantly at first but then with urgency, she logs onto her computer, pulls up episode 84, and hits play. For the first time since January, she's seeing Darcy's face. She'd forgotten how much she likes it. Or maybe she's made herself forget.

. . . . . .

On Saturday afternoon Gigi comes over on the pretense of returning Lizzie's lip balm, and she doesn't come alone.

He's standing by the hall tree when she comes downstairs and as always he's the most commanding presence in the room, by dint of his impressive height and his broad shoulders and his naturally austere face. She's been pretending that she doesn't care for so long that she is almost shocked by how glad she is to see him, by how much she wants to rush forward and throw her arms around him and say I've missed you, let's go on a walk around town and talk about new media.

But when he turns to look at her his face is placid and unreadable; before she left San Francisco he would smile when he saw her and the fact that he isn't smiling at her now holds her back like a hand tugging on her sleeve. And anyway she isn't ready to see him; neither he nor Gigi was expected over, and Lizzie is wearing yoga pants with her hair back in a messy ponytail and she can only assume that she looks genuinely awful. If she'd known he was here maybe she wouldn't have come downstairs, but all she'd heard was Gigi's voice and she'd hurried downstairs without a thought, and now here he stands and she is tongue-tied with surprise.

At least say something, she commands herself, and her lips start to form a smiling Hi, so good to see you, when suddenly that feels so personal and familiar; after all that's happened and not happened, he might not appreciate familiarity from her. So she stops, confused, and the only greeting that makes it out of her mouth is a curt and impersonal and harsh-sounding "Darcy," an echo of that first greeting at Pemberley Digital.

And something flickers across his face, and he stills, just for a moment, as he looks at her, and then he tucks his chin in a little as he responds, "Hello, Lizzie." And then he looks away and that's it, after a month and a half apart that's all the greeting they're going to give each other. She's kicking herself because she should have been warmer and she wishes desperately that this wasn't all happening in front of all these people.

And it is indeed an audience: Gigi, barely holding back giggles, and Mr. Bennet with his finger stuck to mark his place in his book and his expression slightly befuddled, and Mrs. Bennet in the doorway of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishtowel and looking politely unimpressed. Lizzie flinches when she sees her mother's face because she'd forgotten how much the woman dislikes Darcy.

"William Darcy." Mrs. Bennet's voice is decidedly colder than usual, and Lizzie wants to crawl under a table and hide. "You're looking well."

He nods, his expression as unreadable as it ever was back in the summer as he looks at Mrs. Bennet, and Lizzie wishes fervently that Gigi hadn't brought him by, that she'd waited to make their first meeting something a little more private and a lot less surprising. "I'm doing well, thank you," he says, and Lizzie can't deny she's missed the sound of his voice.

"How is your . . . work?" Mrs. Bennet asks in that same tone of polite boredom, clearly not a bit interested in or aware of what Darcy does. And Lizzie doesn't know when she's been so embarrassed, and she wishes that she could shout at her mother you don't know it but this man rescued Lydia's reputation and future so could you please stop being so disdainful.

Something clearly has to be said. "Yeah, how's everything at Pemberley Digital?" Lizzie blurts out.

And Darcy's eyes meet hers and she remembers how blue they are and how much she likes how blue they are. "Everyone's doing well," he says evenly. "Everything's been . . . running smoothly."

It's a fairly content-free answer, so she doesn't know how to respond, and after a moment of silence he looks away from her. She tries again. "And Fitz?"

And again that unreadably level gaze. "You should ask him."

And this embarrasses her into silence, because she doesn't know if he's saying that she'd have more fun chatting if she asked Fitz herself or he's admonishing her for not keeping in touch, and anyway she's distracted because his words remind her of another time, when he said the same thing about Bing's feelings for Jane and she'd wondered then if he was gently hinting that she should ask him if he still loved her as ardently as he did at Halloween. She wishes she could ask him now. She wishes she could take his hand and drag him away from the others and say Just tell me, what's going on here and why are you so distant and uncomfortable and were you really as disgusted as I think you were when I told you about Lydia and did that ruin any chance we might have?

But he looks like a statue standing there, impassive and still, like if she tried to lead him away he would just stay put where he is, and she doesn't really think she wants to make a scene right now when her mother's doing quite a good job of that on her own. So she says nothing and a moment later Darcy gets a phone call and goes outside to take it. Gigi looks like she would like to say something but isn't going to risk it with Lizzie's parents watching, and after a moment she takes her leave.

Lizzie watches her go and wishes they hadn't come to visit.

. . . . . .

"That Gigi is a sweet girl," Mrs. Bennet says after their guests are gone. "But her brother is such an unpleasant man."

And it's finally too much. "Mom, you badmouth him enough to his face, do you have to do it behind his back? He's Jane's boyfriend's best friend. Shouldn't you be kissing up to him?"

Mrs. Bennet does not look impressed at the outburst. "What does it matter to you, dear?" she asks lazily, then turns her attention back to her dishes.

The question lingers at the back of Lizzie's mind all day—if you've already lost your chance with him, what does it matter if your mother dislikes him?—and it's not until she's lying in her bed that night that she knows the answer. It's that William Darcy has given her so much in recent months—taking care of the tape, giving her a spot at his company, the myriad ways he helped and befriended her in San Francisco—and she's never been able to give him anything in return. But this is something she's going to give him: she's going to keep one narrow-minded Mississippian woman from saying catty things about him after he's left the room.

She thinks to herself that hopes he appreciates that, wherever he is, but that was the wrong thing to do because now all she can think of is wondering where he is right now—is he staying with Gigi at Netherfield, and if so, is he using the same guest room that he used over the summer? Is he lying in bed going over today's visit in his mind like I am? Or is he getting himself a glass of cold milk to help himself sleep like he used to do?—and she doesn't want to think about him right now, especially not about him wrapped up in the quiet vulnerability to going to sleep.

Because at this point in the game, it's silly of her to hope for anything. So in the end, all she'll let herself think of Darcy is the hope that wherever he is right now he's not thinking badly of her because of this horrible day. Somehow she can't stand the idea of him being out there in the world and thinking badly of her.

. . . . . .

disappointment: _noun, _displeasure at the nonfulfillment of hopes or expectations

. . . . . .

Somehow she'd expected that having Darcy back in town would mean having Darcy back in her life, that she'd see him as often as she did in San Francisco, but she hasn't seen him in nearly a week. Gigi explains (in a voice that hints that she's annoyed at her brother) that he's in meetings full time and stays at the new office every night until nearly midnight catching up on work. Lizzie doesn't respond that she's worried about whether that can be good for him, but she's thinking it.

And one night, when her mother has sent her on an emergency run to return videos to the library, she finds herself passing the new Pemberley Digital offices on Main Street at 11:15, and she sees a single light burning in an upper story window. She can picture him up there, his brow furrowed in concentration in that way that made her think at Netherfield that he was always in a foul mood but that she learned in San Francisco simply meant that he was focused intently on his work. She wonders if he's eaten dinner. She wonders what he'd do if she called him, if she tossed pebbles at his window until he looked down and saw her waiting for him in the street below, if she found a way into the building and made her way to his office—

Abruptly she cuts off that train of thought and drives away as the light turns green. Because she's afraid she knows what he'd do in that case. She's afraid that he'd look at her with that piercing gaze and tell her no.

. . . . . .

Her online followers know by now that the Darcys are in town, so she stops reading her Twitter. She doesn't want to tell them that the questions they're asking her are the very questions she'd like to know the answers to herself. And she long ago stopped reading the comments on her videos. In fact, she finds herself withdrawing from the public spotlight day by day, although as long as the videos continue she can't quite leave the Internet.

She told Professor Gardiner that she would do the vlog for a year, and she's going to do that. But it's so different now than what it was. Now she's seen firsthand the problems that arise when you put all your personal feelings and doings up for everyone to see. She'll miss the vlog when it's over; it's been her life for a long time. But a large part of her will also be relieved. Come April, when her life falls apart or she says something cruel or she pushes away an amazing man, at least she won't have an audience.

. . . . . .

In an unexpected development, Gigi and Mary take to each other like ducks take to water.

"But it makes sense in a way," Lizzie tells Jane over the phone Wednesday night after the trip to Carter's. "Because Gigi is essentially what you get if you cross Lydia and Mary, right? All of Lydia's enthusiasm with all of Mary's brains. So it makes sense she'd get along with both of them."

"They really had fun?" Jane laughs.

"Gigi and Mary talked about books," says Lizzie. "And they managed to rope Lydia into it, because Lydia's reading Brontë to prepare for her summer English class. I have to say, I never thought I'd live to see the day Lydia would go to a bar and spend the evening discussing literature." Then she pauses, a thought occurring to her, and a smile crosses her lips. "You know, I think this friendship could be really healthy for all three of them. They all sort of need someone right now and I think they all need to be allowed to be there for someone right now."

"Interesting," says Jane with a carefully serious voice, and Lizzie smiles because Jane's never been able to hide it when she's amused with what she's about to say, even over the phone. "So there's a Bennet sister who needs a Darcy in her life."

The smile drops from Lizzie's face. "Please don't, Jane," she says. "I know you just want me to happy but that's just all so complicated right now."

And it's Jane, so she acquiesces. But later, after the phone call has ended, Lizzie finds herself wishing, rather against her will, that Jane would have pressed the matter. She wishes that someone would succeed in making her talk about William Darcy, because it would be like scratching a mosquito bite: worse for her in the long run, but in the moment such a relief.

. . . . . .

She's brushing her teeth when Lydia walks down the hallway, crying.

"Lydia?" Lizzie calls, poking her head out into the hallway. "What's wrong?"

Lydia stops and laughs even as she's wiping away tears. "I'm fine. It's just . . . I had a long talk with Gigi just now. We finally talked about George, and it was really good to get it all out, but it was . . tough."

Lizzie puts her arms around her sister, and Lydia sighs. "She's such a nice girl, and he broke her heart. And then he betrayed me in the worst way possible. How does a guy like that keep getting away with this crap? And how does he keep finding the girls who fall for it?"

"George has a lot of practice being scum," Lizzie says into Lydia's hair. "He's gotten it down to an art."

Lydia sighs and burrows closer into Lizzie's shoulder, and they stand in silence for a while. Then, unexpectedly, the youngest Bennet states, "I think you should give Darcy another chance."

It's an echo of Jane told her weeks ago, and it startles her to hear it coming from another sister. "What?"

"It's just . . . this whole George business is making me worry that it's impossible to find nice guys anymore, but hearing Gigi talk about her brother . . . I think he's one of the good ones. And you deserve that."

Lizzie agrees about him being one of the good ones. And she agrees that she deserves someone nice, although at the moment it's more because everyone deserves someone nice than because she genuinely looks back on her recent conduct with pleasure and satisfaction. But she can't agree that this means that she and Darcy should be together. Because he deserves one of the good ones too, and after all the cruel things she's said to and about him, she's not confident that she's really the one to make him happy.

. . . . . .

She turns the corner into the freezer aisle, heading for the ice cream, and there he is in front of the frozen vegetables, examining a box of edamame. He hasn't seen her yet so she has the freedom to examine him, to watch the movement of his face as he considers the package as though whether to buy it is as serious a question as he has ever faced in his young life. She's never seen him at a grocery store, never thought of him as someone who might devote any time or thought to stocking a pantry, and it's strangely charming. She wonders what he buys, whether he cooks it himself, if Gigi ever sends him out in the middle of one of her baking excursions to pick up some eggs for her because she didn't realize they were out of them.

And the thought of him running to the store for his sister churns up in her head with the fact that he's wearing an actual genuine t-shirt like normal people do, and out of the mix of thoughts come invented but compelling pictures of domestic life: Darcy obediently measuring flour into a bowl. Darcy spending hours hanging a picture because he absolutely must get it in just the right spot. Darcy settling into the sofa with a plate in his lap because sometimes it's so nice to eat in front of the TV.

And for the first time since January, she doesn't fight back her thoughts as they decide that she'd enjoy watching him get flour all over his shirt. And that she'd be amused, not annoyed, at his need to get the picture hung just right. And that she'd rather like being the one sitting on that sofa next to him.

And that she loves him and good grief, what kind of idiot has she been to keep him at arm's length for so long?

She's got to . . . something. Talk to him, at least, although perhaps she'll keep the confession that she's in love with him _goodness gracious it's so liberating to finally let that thought run free _under wraps until things are a little more settled between them. She's got to talk to him so that he understands that she's still around, that she's not content to just pretend that they're not even aware of each other being in the same town, that she cares about preserving her relationship with him.

And she has stepped forward to do just that when she hears a voice she'd rather hoped never to hear again. "Why, Lizzie Bennet," says Caroline Lee, coming toward her from the pharmacy section. At the sound of Lizzie's name Darcy looks up, his eyes fixed on her, but Lizzie can't quite look back because she was preparing herself for a lot of ways this conversation could go but it had never occurred to her to worry about Caroline showing up.

"How nice to see you," her former friend says and slips past Lizzie to put her Tylenol into Darcy's basket. "I've just gotten back into town. Staying with Gigi and Darcy, although since it's my brother's house maybe it's them staying with me."

She laughs a little at her own joke but neither of her companions so much as cracks a smile. Undeterred, she places a hand on Darcy's shoulder and although he stiffens, he doesn't move away. "But we'd better run," she says. "Big dinner party tonight, you know."

Lizzie hasn't heard a word about a dinner party at Netherfield, and she can hear the message loud and clear: you're not invited.

"Well, ciao!" Caroline says.

"Good to see you, Lizzie," Darcy says.

Lizzie nods and is trying to find words when she notices Caroline loop her arm around Darcy's. Darcy doesn't shake her off, and Lizzie's grip on her shopping cart tightens.

. . . . . .

resignation: _noun,_ unresisting acceptance of something as unavoidable; submission

. . . . . .

She runs through the encounter in the frozen foods one hundred times in her head and comes up with a number of possible explanations.

1. Darcy didn't notice Caroline touching him.

2. Darcy did notice Caroline touching him, but that is for them a casual and informal gesture.

3. Darcy did notice her touching him, but he's too polite to tell her to let go.

4. Darcy's in love with Caroline now.

It's 2 or 3, Lizzie's sure of it. Because even if he's not in love with Lizzie anymore, surely he's too smart to fall for Caroline Lee. The man she knows, the man she loves, would never let himself be duped and manipulated by that schemer.

But late that night, when Lizzie lies down to sleep, every time she closes her eyes all she can see is Darcy and Caroline walking away from her, arm in arm.

. . . . . .

"It was Caroline's dinner party for Caroline's friends," Gigi explains. "It was crazy. People actually flew in from out of town for it. She hired caterers to come down from LA."

"Nothing in town that met her standards? Why is she even here if she thinks our town is so awful?" This is what Lizzie says. What she thinks, though, is that last autumn Darcy told her that social classes were a real thing and she hated him for it, but now she has to admit that about one thing, at least, he's right: the Lees and the Darcys live in a different world from her.

. . . . . .

She tells Lydia who took the website down. She didn't mean to—it's clearly a secret he's trying to keep and although she doesn't understand why, she can respect his wishes—but Lydia confesses to her one night that she's still anxious that somehow the video could reappear one day, and the only way that Lizzie can think to reassure her is to say that it's in the hands of William Darcy.

The truth is that she doesn't know what Darcy did, or what he plans to do, but of three things she is absolutely certain: Darcy will always do the right thing, or at least what he perceives the right thing to be; Darcy will perceive that the right thing in this situation is to protect Lydia and therefore he will do everything in his power to do that; Darcy is an extremely intelligent, capable man, and everything in his power is powerful indeed.

Lydia is silent so it takes Lizzie a moment to realize that she's crying, soundless tears running down her face. "I was so rude to him," she says softly.

"Because I encouraged you to be," Lizzie breaks in immediately. All the blame in this situation is hers and she will not allow her sister to shoulder any of it.

"We've got to thank him," says Lydia. "Did you thank him yet?"

There's a long moment of hesitation. "No, not quite."

"Why not?" Lydia demands, but before Lizzie can answer she continues, "Then I'll say something to him."

"No," says Lizzie forcefully, then backpedals a little. "It's just . . . I don't know whether he wanted us to know."

"What do you mean?" Lydia is skeptical. "Of course he wants us to know. Otherwise how would you know to thank him with your feminine favors?"

Lizzie flushes a little. "He's not the one who told me. I got it like third-hand through one of my professors. I wondered the same thing you're wondering, but if he did it to get me to like him, he would have told me, right?"

Lydia considers this for a long moment. "So," she says, as though to make sure she has understood, "this guy tracks down Wickham and buys him out or beats him up or whatever to help me, and then even though telling you would have gotten him at least some make-out action, he keeps it a secret? So we just assume he did it because it's the right thing to do or because he wanted to be nice?"

Lizzie only shrugs, because half of her brain is suddenly filled with the image of Darcy make-out action.

And now Lydia's shaking her head. "Lizzie," she says. "He just might be the best guy on the planet. Why are you not dating him yet?"

. . . . . .

**Caroline Lee **that_caroline

wmdarcy You made quite an impression on my friend Julia at the party.

**Caroline Lee **that_caroline

wmdarcy She asked for your number, I told her no. I thought you'd appreciate that.

. . . . . .

Charlotte leaves town, her work as local expert completed, to go back to Collins and Collins. Her final words to Lizzie are, like everything Charlotte does, practical. "You should talk to him," she says reasonably. "You're trying to make decisions when you don't have all the facts."

And Lizzie just laughs and shakes her head and hugs her friend goodbye, working hard to prevent her thoughts from showing on her face. Because her thoughts are more melancholy than she wants to admit to. Her thoughts are these: she couldn't possibly talk to Darcy now, not about her feelings for him. Because she had her chance and blew it—maybe had a few chances and blew them all—and for her to go to him now would feel selfish and silly, like she's a child who petulantly knocks her food to the floor and then asks for something to eat because she's hungry. She can't go to him now; she's keeping the ball in his court.

She doesn't tell Charlotte any of these things because she's afraid that her best friend will see right through that smokescreen of metaphors and find behind it the truth Lizzie's embarrassed to reveal: that she's ashamed to tell him of her feelings when she's daily more certain that he would reject her the way she rejected him all those months ago.

. . . . . .

surrender: _verb_, to give up to some influence, course, emotion

. . . . . .

It's Mary, of all people, who convinces her to make a decision, albeit accidentally. They're all at Carter's and Mary's brought her boyfriend along—Mary, who twelve months ago was telling them that all guys were losers and a waste of time. And as much as the two of them try to conceal it, because they're both too intellectual for this nonsense, they are happy together: happy to be sitting side by side, happy to be holding hands, happy to be discussing French history.

And Lizzie, seeing their happiness, is jealous. She is jealous of someone having a boyfriend and this is slightly shocking to her because she has not traditionally been a girl who always wants a guy around but the fact is that she's changed recently and now she does want a guy—one particular guy, to be exact. So in that moment she makes up her mind: Darcy is supposed to show up tonight with Gigi, and this is going to be the moment of truth. If he talks to her tonight, she'll take that as a good sign; she'll say . . . something, something meaningful, to him. If he ignores her, as he has done since he came to town, she'll know that he's not here for her, that she missed her chance.

She's wondering how on earth she become this unsure of herself when she hears her name called. "Lizzie Bennet!" It's Ginny Smith, bless her heart, who was on student council with Lizzie in high school. Quiet Ginny Smith, who they all assumed would never do anything with her life and who ended up going to school in Boston while Lizzie turned out to be the one who never left town. But jealousy aside, Lizzie is glad to see her friend. As she stands up to hug her she sees that Ginny's brothers and several other old friends from high school are there, and their little group swells in number.

After a moment Ginny grabs Lizzie's arm. "We're going to go play Just Dance," she grins, because she knows perfectly well that Lizzie can't turn down the opportunity to play a dance game. And Lizzie has no reason to say no, so she agrees.

They're in their second round when Gigi and Darcy arrive; Lizzie is dancing just then, so she can't do anything but yell hello in response to Gigi's called greeting. And by the time she's done, the Darcys are sitting at the table with Lydia and Mary. She glances at Darcy and catches his eye just for a second; she smiles, and he nods in return, and she hopes that's a good sign.

But she can't leave until her game is done, and as it gets more competitive, time slips ever more swiftly by. When Lizzie isn't playing she waits tensely, thinking that surely at any moment he'll come speak with her, and finally she's right. He's walking back from the bathroom when he looks up and catches her eye. She smiles back at him but she's suddenly thinking of how sweaty and disheveled she is, and the smile turns strained. Still, he pauses in his journey back to the table.

"Darcy," she greets him, and he nods but doesn't say anything. It quickly becomes awkward that they're both just standing there, saying nothing, so she gestures at the game, where Ginny is flailing wildly (she's almost as bad as Lizzie is). "Do you want to play?"

"No," he says quickly, and she casts her mind about for something else to say. She's already asked him about Fitz and Gigi and work recently.

But before she can come up with anything, Ginny jumps down and startles them both. "Are you going to play?" she asks Darcy politely. "Because if not, Lizzie, you'd better get up there and step up your game before I kick your trash."

Lizzie can feel her mouth hanging open while she looks for the words to say, but Darcy speaks first. "No thank you," he says, and walks away. He speaks to Gigi and Lydia and is apparently telling them goodbye, because he pulls his car keys out of his pocket.

"Probably all for the best," Ginny says beside Lizzie. "He looked like kind of a buzzkill."

And Lizzie follows Darcy with her gaze all the way to the door. "Probably," she murmurs.

. . . . . .

She feels like she's been dumped and she wasn't even dating the guy. She's irritable and gloomy and she immediately changes the channel every time a commercial for a jeweler's comes on ("Come on," she snarks at the TV, "obviously 'every kiss' begins with an 'e.'"). It's not pleasant being grouchy but it's better this than watching Bridget Jones' Diary with a tub of ice cream, which is the other course of action she's considering. But it's okay to feel bad for a while, she tells herself. You can't do it forever but sometimes you just need to let it all out. She just hopes it gets out of her system quick, because her family has started to notice and the last thing she wants is to have to explain, especially to Mrs. Bennet. Well, Mom, I did manage to find a rich handsome man who was in love with me, but I drove him off and now he's completely over me. Don't worry, though, I'll find a man someday; I'll just have to outsource my dating life to Canada, like Ricky Collins.

She especially doesn't want Lydia to notice, partly because she's got enough on her mind right now and partly because she might tell Gigi and partly because she's now such a fan of William Darcy that if she knew Lizzie had feelings for him—if she knew there was a constant little sad ache in Lizzie's throat—she would probably drag Lizzie over to Darcy herself. Although, Lizzie thinks to herself every now and then, maybe that wouldn't be such a bad thing. As much as she doesn't want to have that conversation, she wishes sometimes that she was brave enough for it, because then at least she'd have closure. Then at least she wouldn't occasionally feel that little twinge of hope that maybe she's misreading the situation, because that just makes it all the worse when reality closes in and she remembers that in three weeks of being in town he's never once tried to contact her. Hope, she's decided, is just a cruel trick of the mind designed to maximize disappointment.

And she can't talk to Charlotte because she knows what Charlotte will say, and she can't even talk to Jane, because Bing's Facebook relationship status has just been updated and Lizzie doesn't want to spoil their fresh start together by dragging Jane down with her problems. Most of all she can't talk to her camera because lately she's become so careful, so cautious about what she puts on the Internet, and "I'm in love with William Darcy" is much too much information. She hasn't even told them yet that Darcy is the one who took down the website because she's trying so hard to be better about what should be public information and what shouldn't. She started these videos with just her family and friends, in the middle she had thousands of confidantes and the (unwanted) love of a good man, and now at the end—she knows it's melodramatic but it's how she feels—she has nothing.

. . . . . .

conviction: _noun_, a strong persuasion or belief

. . . . . .

On the next Friday morning she gets a call from an expected source: Catherine de Burgh's personal assistant, who politely informs her that Catherine would like to speak to her on a matter of urgent business, and would 11:00 today at the new PD satellite office downtown suit her?

Lizzie dresses for the meeting with thoughts whirling through her head. Her first concern is that something has happened to Charlotte, but why on earth would Catherine inform her of that, rather than Charlotte's family or even Ricky? Then she wonders if maybe it's Ricky—yes, she admits it, she'd be concerned if something had happened to him—but then Charlotte would have told her. Or maybe it has to do with Caroline or Bing or one of the Darcys, but none of those ideas stand up to any scrutiny either.

So maybe it's not a bad emergency. Maybe—and this thought makes her fingers hesitate as they do the buttons on her dress—maybe it's a professional matter, given the fact that Catherine is inviting herself into her nephew's offices to do it. Maybe Catherine wants to offer her a job at Collins and Collins. She turned it down once, but now, seeing the positive changes that Charlotte has made, seeing how closely she would occasionally get to work with Pemberley Digital . . . she's no longer as sure of her answer as she was last time. But the thought makes her dress with greater care and fills her with nervous excitement as she drives downtown and enters the new Pemberley Digital office.

It's not a job offer. "I think you know why I asked you here, Elizabeth," says Catherine, and she doesn't look pleased.

"No, not at all," Lizzie says.

The woman looks down her nose at her, looking like nothing so much as an ill-tempered librarian shushing unruly children, and Lizzie wonders how on earth such a woman could be related to Gigi and William Darcy, because she has none of the sister's sweetness and none of the brother's goodness. "Well, Elizabeth, I am known for always being honest, so I am going to be frank with you."

"Okay," says Lizzie slowly, more sure every moment that this is not a meeting about her professional future.

"I want you to stay away from my nephew."

And though Lizzie had been through many possible reasons for this meeting in her head, that is not one that had ever even occurred to her. "Come again?"

"I think you heard me, Elizabeth, and I think you know what I meant. William has a duty to his family and his company and you have been distracting him from that duty since you met by constantly throwing yourself at him."

And Lizzie is, for once, without words. All she can do is incredulously repeat, "Throwing myself at him?"

"Yes, I know it was you who kept him in this town all summer—" the woman is 100% correct but not at all in the way she thinks— "and I saw how much attention you paid him when you were both at Collins and Collins."

"That wasn't—"

"And then to get yourself an internship at his company? You may have no shame in using your feminine wiles to get what you want, but even so, you should know how perfectly transparent your actions were to me."

Distantly, through the red haze gathering in her mind, Lizzie notices that her hands are shaking. But when she speaks her voice is firm. "Everything I did related to my shadowing placements has been for my academic development, not to get closer to your nephew or any other man. But either way, isn't it up to William how he reacts to my 'feminine wiles'? He's a grown man, he can make his own decisions." She's never called him William before, and even through her anger she likes the feel of it on her lips.

"He seems to have a shocking lack of judgment when it comes to you," Catherine snaps. "And now he's here, in your town, and my niece tells me how much time you've spent together—" Hardly any, really, Lizzie thinks— "and it's clear to me that you are ensnaring him into a relationship that can only be damaging to him personally and professionally."

"Damaging?"

"A girl well below his class, poor and prospectless . . . do you think you could ever fit into his life? Into the circles he moves in?"

And Lizzie is well and truly fed up with this conversation, fed up with trying to be polite and handle it professionally. After all, Catherine's being anything but polite and professional. "There's only one way to find out," she tells Catherine with a bright smile. "And you know as well as I do that he's an incredible guy. Even if I can't hang out with his rich friends, surely just being with him is enough to make any girl happy."

Catherine's face is a storm cloud. "William already has a young woman in his life who is perfect for him, and I won't have you messing that up."

Again in Lizzie's mind she sees Darcy and Caroline walking away from her in the frozen foods aisle, arm in arm, and the memory makes her voice sharper. "Caroline? Well, I hate to state the obvious, but for William to date me, wouldn't that mean he's probably not actually all that into her?"

"She is perfect for him. She is what's best for the whole family. While you, Miss Bennet . . . despite what movies and TV teach you, social classes do matter." It's an echo of Darcy's words to her, and it hits Lizzie in the gut. "He needs to make good decisions, make good impressions, to keep his position professionally and socially. And how can he do that dating a student from the middle of nowhere who posts Internet videos talking about how much she hates him? Do you think that won't come out eventually? That and the fact that he had to pay a staggering amount of money to keep your sister's sex tape from being released? People will know about you, Elizabeth Bennet. They will know the kind of person you are and it will make them wonder what kind of person he is."

Lizzie grips the arms of her chair. "My sister was taken advantage of—by a friend of the Darcy family, by the way—and those crimes are George Wickham's, not hers, and not mine. And I am positive that William has had these same concerns before, and if he came to terms with them, why couldn't you?"

"Don't you dare tell me what to do."

"I don't for a moment believe I'm such a bad influence on him. And I don't for a moment agree that other people's opinions could be more important than our feelings for each other."

"Impertinent girl!"

Lizzie ignores her outburst. "If he were to want me, and I were to want him, that would be the only thing that matters to us." Well, she amends mentally, if he wanted me and I wanted him _at the same time._ That's the part they're struggling with.

Catherine looks ready to throttle Lizzie, but as the last sentence lingers in the air her face changes and she perks up. "If?" she repeats. "Tell me once and for all, Elizabeth, are you dating my nephew?"

And she'd love to lie just to rile the woman up, but the rush of indignation is subsiding, so Lizzie, deflated, answers honestly. "No, I am not."

Catherine looks relieved, and a triumphant little smile dances across her face. "And will you promise me not to? Will you promise to stay away from him while he's in town?"

I don't have to stay away from him, Lizzie thinks; he's doing plenty of staying away from me already. But she's never going to give into Catherine's rudeness, and anyway somehow it seems significant to her that she not make this promise. She and Darcy will probably never be together, but it won't be because she promised to avoid him. "I will absolutely not. You have no right to tell me how to live my life, and I'm going to do it in the way that's best for me and the people I love, whether or not you approve." She stands. "And now, Catherine, I have better things to do than sit here and listen to you insult me. Goodbye."

She slips out the door, Catherine still seething behind her, and makes it all the way to her car before she breaks down in tears.

. . . . . .

It takes a long hot shower, a cup of tea and a few chapters of E.M. Forster before she's calmed down enough to talk about it. Luckily Charlotte, with an incredible sense of timing, calls her just after the tea has all been drunk and the chapters all read. From the first hello Charlotte can tell something's wrong, and it doesn't take much prodding before the whole story comes tumbling out. When the telling is done Lizzie leans against the counter and squeezes her eyes shut, trying to block out the world as she waits for Charlotte to reply. It's so insane, so embarrassing—and so agonizing to remember that a few hours earlier she'd chosen her shoes and necklace so carefully, thinking that Catherine might be offering her a job.

"Wow," Charlotte says, and Lizzie can imagine just the stunned expression that'll be on her friend's face. "That woman . . . wow. Lizzie, I'm so sorry."

Lizzie balances the phone between her ear and her shoulder so she can put her mug in the dishwasher. "It wasn't the most pleasant morning I've ever had."

"It's going to be really hard to be civil to her at our next board meeting."

"Don't," says Lizzie. "Don't jeopardize your job on my account."

"I won't," promises Charlotte, and the two friends lapse into silence. Then Charlotte speaks again, her voice mischievous. "Did you really tell Catherine that being with Darcy would make you happy?"

"No!" Lizzie insists. Then, "Well, sort of."

"Interesting," Charlotte replies, and Lizzie can hear the smile there. "Well, this is actually a really nice segue to the reason I called—some really interesting videos I just found. I think you should watch them; I'm going to e-mail you the link."

"Videos?" Lizzie asks. "Why—"

"Trust me," says Charlotte. "Just watch them."

. . . . . .

**Demonstration - EP: 1**

PemberleyDigital - 6 videos

Published on Jan 30, 2013

The first public demonstration of Pemberley Digital's Domino Application.

. . . . . .

_"Did you tell her?"_

_"Did I tell who what?"_

_"Oh, you know who. About what you did!"_

_"No, and I have no plans to."_

_"Okay, but think of how much she'll appreciate—"_

_"Our last encounter did not end a particularly pleasant note."_

_"That wasn't your fault."_

_"Indirectly it was. Much of her troubles are; you've seen her videos."_

_"So you're going to do nothing?"_

_"I will continue to try and make amends."_

. . . . . .

The last video ends and Lizzie sits still on her bed a long time, unmoving, barely breathing. She's never understood the extent of what he did for her. She didn't realize he blames himself for everything that happened. Most of all, she didn't know, until this moment, that his guilt and his concern for her are what's been keeping him distant. And now that she does know, she finds herself scrambling off her bed, finding her shoes and purse, and rushing out her bedroom door. She has to find him; she has to talk to him. She doesn't know what she's going to say—although it will definitely include a long-overdue thank you—but she knows that the conversation needs to be had. So she's going to find him, and if he's not at the office downtown she will drive to Netherfield and if he's not at Netherfield she will drive to San Francisco.

But it turns out she doesn't have to do any of that, because when she steps outside, he's in her driveway.

"Darcy," she says, surprised, coming to a stop on the front porch.

He looks up at her and she can't name all the emotions in his face but she does know him well enough to know he's very worked up about something. "Lizzie," he replies, and she thinks it's funny that he sounds as surprised as her, given that he's the one who just parked in front of her house. "Are you going somewhere?"

"Coming to see you, actually," she says, and his posture shifts ever so slightly and he tucks his chin just a bit. "But what are you doing here?"

"I had to talk to you," he says quickly. "After what Aunt Catherine did—"

And she can't talk about this here, not where her family could come outside and stumble across them at any moment. "Do you want to walk?" she cuts in. The tiniest of smiles dances across his face as he agrees, and she admits to herself that she loves how breathless that makes her feel.

Lizzie's nerves are high and as she leads him away down the sidewalk, she's walking much faster than is normal for her. Finally Darcy gently grasps her elbow to slow her down. "I did want to talk," he says with an anxious little smile.

"Sorry," she says, pulling back to match his pace so they can actually speak. "Talk."

"Yes, I wanted . . ." He shakes his head. "Aunt Catherine told me about your conversation. Well, actually someone saw you leave the building so I had to find out why you'd been there. And I can't believe . . . the things she said to you . . ."

She winces, and she sees him see her wince, and shame floods his face. "It was inexcusable," he tells her. "Aunt Catherine has grown accustomed to dictating how Gigi and I live, but I never thought she would start on one of our friends."

His use of the word "friend" sounds louder and more ominous than a rumble of thunder. "Friends" was what she wanted in San Francisco. It's not what she wants now.

But she can be friendly, for now. "It's—well, it's not fine, actually, but don't feel bad about it," she tells him. "Given how awful my mother is to you, I think you're allowed to have one relative who doesn't like me."

She can see how tense he is, how stiff. "I do feel terrible," he insists. "Although it was beneficial, in a way; it was the catalyst that finally convinced me to have a long-overdue talk with her about her interference in our lives."

That sounds like the least pleasant conversation Lizzie can imagine having. "Did it work?"

"She's extremely angry with me," he said. "But I think I got the point across."

"Good," she says awkwardly.

"But the point is, I'm sorry."

"I know," she says, smiling, then, "Thank you." And then she lapses into silence, wishing she knew how to say more. She can say anything to a camera, to a million strangers, but put her face-to-face with the man she loves and she becomes silent and uncomfortable.

After a long pause, he prompts gently, "You said you were coming to see me?"

"Yes," she responds quickly. They've reached the park now and she gestures at a bench. "Do you want to sit?"

They settle themselves on the bench, side by side, almost touching, and Lizzie smiles. "This feels familiar," she says. "All we need is a camera."

Darcy quirks a smile and shakes his head. "As much as I admire your vlog work, I'm happy that not all conversations get broadcast online. Can you imagine if you'd recorded your discussion with my aunt?"

Lizzie laughs. "Are you kidding? All that drama—people would eat that stuff up." Then she sobers a little. "But you're right, not everything should be broadcast for the whole world to see. Some things should be private. That's a lesson I've learned the hard way this year." Time to stop stalling and say what needs to be said. "So I'm glad we're not recording this one because I'm trying to respect your privacy better."

"Oh?" he says in a tone she can't quite recognize, and he turns to face her full on, his eyes searching her face.

"Yeah," she says. "I wanted to thank you for Lydia."

"Oh," he repeats, and turns away, and this time his tone is flat.

"I can't imagine the amount of money and hassle this meant for you," she says, speaking faster as she warms up to her subject. "And to have to find and pay off a man you hate—with good reason—and to take time away from work for it, and I know it reopened old wounds for Gigi . . . and all of this for a girl you barely know . . ." To her shock and dismay, she finds herself getting teary. "Darcy—William—there are no words to express how grateful I am."

But he's shaking his head. "I didn't do it for Lydia," he says, his eyes fixed on the ground.

"Oh," she says, heart starting to pound.

"But I also didn't do it to make you grateful. I don't want you to think for a moment that you owe me anything. I did it . . ." He finally looks at up her. "I did it to make you happy."

"It did," she says, just above a whisper. The notion of him trying to make her happy is probably the most wonderful thing she's heard in a while, though she still has no idea what it means in the long run for them. Or for him and her, in case there is no them.

"Good," he says, dropping his gaze back to the ground. "Goodness knows I've failed at that every other time I've tried."

The silence stretches long and fraught as she tries to think of something to say, and when it's gotten too long to be recovered from gracefully, he clears his throat—in the end he's the one who leaps first. "Lizzie," he says, forcing himself to look in her face; she gets the impression it's extremely difficult for him and she wonders how she ever mistook this shyness for cruelty. "Lizzie, I—if you ever could—you made it quite clear how you feel about me in the autumn, but if you ever . . . change your mind . . ." He sighs and she feels it in her chest as though she's the one who breathed it. "I'm still here." He pauses, watches her, seems to make a decision to press forward. "I still love you."

Oh.

Oh, thank goodness.

He's meeting her eyes steadily when he says it but she can see in his expression that he expects to be spurned again, expects to have his heart broken. And why wouldn't he? She's never given him a reason to think her feelings have changed. He just took an astonishing risk—for her—for the second time since she's known him. The difference is that this time, when his words hit her like a wave crashes against the rocks, leaving her punch-drunk and shell-shocked, she feels light-headed and giddy, not offended and furious. This time her heart starts to pound with anticipation, not anger. This time she's thanking God and her lucky stars and anyone who will listen that the most infuriating, difficult-to-read, wonderful man she's ever known is giving her a second chance.

His arm is resting on his leg, his hand clenched into a fist, and almost shyly and barely breathing she reaches out and brushes that hand lightly with her fingertips. Immediately the tight grip relaxes and she slips her hand into his. He stares at their joined hands a moment, non-comprehension on his face, then looks back up to her. "You know," she says, fake-thoughtfully, as his expression fills with surprise and hope, "I suppose I could be convinced to change my mind." And then suddenly she can't bring herself to be flippant anymore, and softly she adds, "In fact I think I already did."

He's still staring, though, and she can't blame him for being cautious, so she takes a deep breath and squeezes his hand and looks him right in the eye. "What I'm saying, Darcy—William—is that I . . . am pretty sure I love you."

He breathes in deeply once, like a slow gasp of surprise, and then a smile like she's never seen on him appears on his face. "William," he says. "If you're still trying to decide between the two."

She grins. "William," she repeats. And then this has gone on quite long enough so she leans forward and kisses him, and it takes only a moment for him to reach out for her and kiss her back. It feels like every cliche: like fireworks, like time has stopped, like coming home. It feels wonderful.

And when they break apart Darcy—William—doesn't move, his breath held, his eyes closed, as if he hasn't quite processed this moment enough to move on from it yet. And then, as though the words are drawn from him without his meaning to say them, he speaks dazedly.

"Thank you."

But then his eyes fly open and his whole face flushes bright red, clearly embarrassed about his response. "Sorry—that was . . . weird—"

But Lizzie only laughs, because she knows exactly what he's feeling, because she feels it too. "No, William," she says, and touches his face because she finally _finally_ can. "Thank you. For this, and for Lydia, and for Pemberley, and for not giving up on me when I gave you every reason to."

"Well, Lizzie Bennet," he says, and reaches out to run a finger along her jaw and oh does she ever love how that feels, "you're hard to forget."

. . . . . .

denouement: _noun_, the outcome of a story or sequence of events, in which the strands of the plot are drawn together and matters resolved

. . . . . .

And some time later, when they've kissed enough that they both feel confident in where they stand with each other, when they've both said a few more I love yous, when Lizzie realizes she feels fully content for the first time in weeks, they lean back against the bench, hands entwined, her head on his shoulder, and speak of all the things that need to be said: of weeks of uncertainty and confusion, of months of misunderstanding and longing.

"No, I never stopped," he says. "Even though it felt completely hopeless all winter."

"Even after all the horrible things I said to you? And all the things I said about you?"

He laughs without mirth. "What did you say that I didn't deserve? My behavior to you at the time—much of my behavior to you for those first six months—was inexcusable. I admit I was upset and angry after you rejected me, but once I started watching your videos, all that anger turned to where it was deserved—to myself." He shakes his head. "All last summer, every time we were together I thought only about myself—about all the reasons a relationship with you could complicate my life—so without meaning to I treated you abhorrently. It wasn't until I watched your videos that I realized how rude I'd been, how self-absorbed—"

"My videos were too harsh," she insists. "I wanted to dislike you; I was always looking for reasons to be mad—"

"Because I was unkind first." He looks down, uncomfortable, and Lizzie rubs his arm. "The worst video of all to watch was that day at Collins and Collins. I had finally realized that I wasn't getting over you, and when I decided that I was going to pursue a relationship, I thought that was it; I didn't even think of your feelings. It didn't occur to me that you might say no. I was . . . forceful and angry and rude."

"Yeah," says Lizzie thoughtfully, "but I'm pretty sure that describes me that day too. Neither of us was really at our best."

"I've thought of your words every day since then—that I was the last man in the world you could ever fall in love with."

"Well, you can stop thinking about them," she says. "Because obviously I was wrong about that."

He looks down then, with this adorable disbelieving shy smile that says he still can't quite believe that he's here with his hand in hers, and she smiles because she can't believe it took her this long to see him.

"We're here because of your videos, you know," he tells her. "When you turned me down, I'd decided I was never going to bother you ever again. But then just before I stormed out of your life forever, you mentioned the videos, so of course I had to watch them, and . . . it was difficult. I am not accustomed to thinking of myself as a cruel person. I was raised to move in the best circles, and to be decisive, and loyal to the people in my care, but I was never warned about the vices that can accompany those virtues—haughtiness and rudeness and snobbishness, especially to those outside my immediate sphere. And I've always been . . . a bit shy, which apparently combined with everything else just made me seem even more standoffish. So to hear from you again and again that my behavior came off in such a terrible way . . ." He pauses and she takes the opportunity to plant a kiss along his jaw and he grins. "I decided that if I ever came in contact with you again, I would let my behavior show you that there's more to me than that. That I can be a better person than I was." He looks at her fondly. "You made me change_. _In the best way possible. When you showed up at Pemberley Digital, I knew I had to show you that I'd changed, because of you and for you."

"You did. You were incredibly kind and welcoming, even though you must have been kind of freaked out at my being there."

"I was surprised," he admits. "But extremely happy. When you left so suddenly, after we'd been getting on so well—"

He pauses and looks at her for confirmation. "Yes," she laughs, "we'd been getting on well."

"It was extremely difficult. It felt like a second rejection, even though I know you had excellent reasons for leaving. But I knew that eventually—once I'd given you and your sister time to heal—that I wanted to try again."

"Try?"

"This," he says, lifting their clasped hands and placing a kiss on the back of hers. It's perfectly executed and she wonders if this is something that they teach you when you're rich—kissing girls' hands perfectly. "I knew I had to try again, once I'd worked on improving myself and once we knew each other better. At least if you rejected me this time, I'd know you were rejecting the real me—the best me—and not the defensive, aloof, awkward me."

"Really?" she says. "There's a version of you that's not awkward?"

He turns to look at her, surprised, only relaxing when he sees that she's laughing. She decides they're definitely going to have to work on teaching him when she's kidding, but at least his speechlessness gives her a chance to kiss him again.

"Well, I had no intentions of rejecting you again," she says. "I . . . have been regretting you for a long time."

He grows still. "I could have come to you sooner?"

She grins. "Yeah, like a month ago."

He gives a laugh that's also a sigh. "Well," he says, "we'll just have to make up for lost time."

They do.

. . . . . .

That's not the end of their story, but it's still an ending of sorts. Lizzie sees the world through the lens of creating narratives—risks of being a nerd—and she decides that in her and William's story, that perfect afternoon in the park was the end of book 1 in what she hopes will be a very long series.

The opening of book 2 still remains to be decided; William needs to get back to San Francisco and she's leaving in two weeks for her last placement, this time in San Diego. They've already planned who will come to see whom on which weekend, and they've already agreed to set aside 9 to 10 each evening for calling on the phone. What happens after the placement is over remains to be seen, but Lizzie is sure they'll figure out something satisfactory, because from the way William touches her and looks at her, she's pretty sure he has no intention of losing her again, and because from the way Lizzie feels when he smiles—which is often, these days—she's pretty sure she has no intention of being lost.

So, after everything, Elizabeth Bennet and William Darcy close out the first part of their story with every hope and every determination to live happily ever after. To skip to the last page of the last book in their story would be cheating, but even from here, it's quite clear to them and to everyone who cares for them that they will succeed.

. . . . . .

end: _noun_, termination, conclusion; _verb_, to bring to a final point

. . . . . .


End file.
